A Moment with a Mushroom

I’m late again. Of course the M11 stops at every stop between 45th and 23rd and the people who board are too slow, too old, too disabled. “Come on, come on, let’s go, get a move on” I say loudly inside my head. Finally 23rd street. Yes, yes I know I should use the back door to exit, but I want to save time not having to retrace those 10 steps between the front and back doors. I slide out the front, rushing down 9th Avenue…..catch the light to cross 9th Avenue, dodge cars to cross over 22nd street and barrel crosstown. “Perhaps I’ll get there before the OM’s start? Hurry up, hurry up.” A mushroom stops me. A huge golden mushroom fans out from the base of the tree, with two smaller golden fans peeking out from underneath the larger one. They are quivering, delicate, soft and strong. These three mushrooms are not a part of the tree. Yes, of course they are attached to the tree trunk but they are distinctly separate. Their edges ripple like buttery burnished crowns reaching towards the sidewalk. Fungus grows quickly and my suspicion is that this mushroom took advantage of the several days of humid summer rain we’d been having. Perhaps it started as just a few dormant spores, then grabbed the opportunity to grow and flourish regally defying its humble origins and poisonous associations. That metaphor stays with me throughout my yoga class. That each moment is an opportunity for growth or reflection or challenging one’s self. Several hours later I walk by the tree again. The mushroom has been destroyed. Little bits of the brown yellow fungus are scattered in the soil around the tree. A dog? A callous person acting on an urge to vandalize? Who knows. I’m just glad to have been an intrigued observer of its magnificence for a moment.